


Brandy Alexander

by trillian_jdc



Series: Mystrade Cocktails [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Drunk Mycroft Holmes, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Greg Mixes Drinks, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23693188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc
Summary: Mycroft needs to get rid of a bottle of cognac, and former bartender Greg knows a tasty way to do so.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Mystrade Cocktails [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759666
Comments: 11
Kudos: 134





	Brandy Alexander

Greg Lestrade didn't mind the occasional visit to the Diogenes Club. Sure, it was stuffy, and weirdly silent, and not a place he'd choose to go on his own, but it usually came with whatever he needed at the moment -- whether a tasty meal, a delicious drink, or the oddly pleasant company of Sherlock's older brother. That made putting up with the work small talk, or the report on Sherlock's latest antics, or in the worst cases, the pronouncements that he was going to have his investigation interfered with, worthwhile. 

This evening, he wasn't sure exactly why he was there. He'd given Mycroft Holmes an update on his latest murder case, but the quiet, well-dressed man in the armchair across from him didn't seem to have actually needed it, or be paying full attention. His eyes kept drifting to the drinks cart in the corner. Greg could take a hint, so he started preparing himself to leave, which seemed to wake Mycroft out of his slight daze. 

"Oh, Lestrade, going so soon?" 

"Didn't think I'd take up more of your time, Mycroft. You seem a little distracted." 

Mycroft, ever so slightly, winced. "My apologies. I have a small problem that I can't seem to solve. But it's unforgivable of me to not pay full attention to a guest, particularly one as significant as yourself."

Greg ignored the last half of that little speech, refusing to consider that a Holmes would find him important. "I'd offer to help, but I can't imagine I could contribute anything to an issue that stumped you. Since I know nothing about international politics or trade disputes." 

"Oh, no, nothing of that sort." Mycroft, surprisingly, chuckled. "It's an etiquette trap a jumped-up back-bencher is trying to set for me. It's so ridiculously convoluted, almost illogical, that it might potentially work." 

"And Sherlock hasn't played with your puzzle?" Greg asked. 

"Oh, Sherlock, while much improved, still couldn't be bothered working out how to avoid injuring someone's feelings. Even if that emotional hurt is all theatrics, meant to score points and leave me owing a favor." 

"This I've gotta hear, then," Greg replied, settling back down into the comfy chair by the fireplace. 

Mycroft rose, crossed to the rack of liquors, and selected a nondescript bottle from the bottom of the cart, returning to show the label to Greg. "I was given this cognac, purposefully, in front of a number of influential personages. It's overpriced, inferior, and an affront to the palate, in spite of being well-known. I know the presenter is tracking its presence here. I can't drink it -- it's terrible. I can't not drink it -- he'll take great pleasure in taking affront at my rudeness. I can't give it away -- he made too much fuss for it to disappear. I can't simply pour it out -- he's not worth maintaining a lie for when he asks how it was. I can't invite him to share it, much as he hopes, because too much time in his presence would make me finally follow Sherlock's lead in seeking out recreational pharmaceuticals. So what do I do with it?" 

Greg enjoyed seeing Mycroft get worked up and then wind down as he ran out of options. "Give it here. I know what you can do with it. And I bet you'll even enjoy it. You like sweets, right?" 

Mycroft looked slightly displeased at the question before nodding slightly. 

Greg continued, "I know the kitchen here is well-stocked. How do I ask for something?" 

Mycroft moved quietly to the desk, picked up a phone, pushed two buttons, then held the receiver out to Greg. His earlier diatribe seemed to have taken a good deal of energy, leaving him hushed, ready to follow Greg's lead. Greg took the handset, muttered a few instructions into it, then hung up upon receiving an affirmative response. Clapping his hands together, he said, "That'll do it. Go ahead, settle back down, they'll be here in a few minutes." 

Mycroft seated himself again before the fireplace, as a knock on the door preceded a waiter with a tray holding several items of various heights and sizes, all covered with a cloth. Greg took it to the desk after nodding his thanks. The waiter silently bowed himself out, closing the door and leaving the two men alone again together. "Perfect! Look away, Mycroft, I want to surprise you. If that's possible." 

"You're a mystery tonight, Lestrade," Mycroft responded, although he followed instructions. 

Greg had requested a cocktail shaker, cream, a flavored liqueur, and some nutmeg and cinnamon from the kitchen. He opened the cognac, measured it into the shaker, added the other liquids and ice, and began shaking them together. After they mixed and chilled, he poured into two cocktail glasses, garnished with a sprinkle of the spices, and took the drinks back over to the seating area, offering one to Mycroft. "Ta da! You should like this. It's a bit old-fashioned, like you." 

Mycroft held up the glass in front of him, stem gracefully pinched between two fingers and thumb, and stared at it for a moment, tilting his head at the drink. "Did you make me a cognac milkshake?" 

"Ha!" Greg barks out. "It's a Brandy Alexander, and you're not far wrong. Go on, give it a try!"

Mycroft took a small sip, then another, before running his tongue across his lips to catch all the cream. "It's very good. And the quality of the alcohol doesn't seem to matter."

Greg tried not to get distracted by the movement of that pink tip. He shook himself, briefly, and picked up the conversation again. "Not with the heavy flavors, no. I used to bartend at a pub, when I was young, and we'd serve these after dinner. Don't take this the wrong way, but it helped to have something that fussy girlfriends liked." 

Mycroft cut his eyes towards his laughing friend, as he continued sipping, and played along. "Mmmm, yes, of the typical pub-going types, I am probably closest to that category. I prefer the phrase 'having standards' to 'fussy', however." 

"But you're not put off by 'girlfriend'?" Greg relaxed into the banter. He hadn't enjoyed an evening this much in a long while, particularly given how much he was learning about the normally reserved politician. He'd also forgotten how potent the cocktail could be, particularly when he mixed with a heavy hand. 

Mycroft smiled, eyes going a little fuzzy as he remembered. "I have worn a dress in public, but it was on the stage, and it was years ago. At school." 

Greg slowly grinned as he looked the lanky genius up and down. "I imagine you were lovely. Hopefully it showed off your long legs." 

Mycroft pinked slightly as he looked down into the remains of the drink. When had he finished it? "No, it was quite old-fashioned, as you said before. I was Lady Bracknell in _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , a dictatorial dowager." 

"Oh, so you were imposing your will on others even then?" Greg teased. 

Mycroft seemed to suddenly become a little melancholy. "She was thwarted, Gregory. Shown to be mistaken, an obstacle to the course of true love. Not that that is anywhere near my area." 

"Seems to me you underrate yourself, mate." Greg had mixed several servings' worth of the drink, so there was enough left in the shaker to refill Mycroft's glass. Getting more of the creamy treat seemed to lighten his mood back up, as Mycroft smiled, a little fuzzily, back at Greg, and took another swallow. 

"This is very good. But how did you know?" 

"Know what, Mycroft?" 

"You made a drink for me. With my name." 

"Alexander? Is that your middle name?" 

"One of them. You're smarter than he gives you credit for, you know. You solved my problem, more directly than we could. You know how to handle us." Mycroft's conversation gradually wound to a halt, as he looked bewildered. "Perhaps this drink was stronger than I realized?" 

Greg set his glass on the side table and leaned closer. "Anyone ever tell you you're adorable when you're getting snockered?" 

Mycroft looked into Greg's big brown eyes. "Who would know? I don't get tipsy with anyone. Too much of a risk. And no one wants to spend the time, unless they want something." 

"Thank you for trusting me, then." Greg leaned even further forward and kissed Mycroft, lightly, just a peck. Mycroft, after a moment, pulled back, looking shocked. He'd almost dropped the rest of his drink, so he quickly set it aside, but he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands afterwards. 

Greg began to apologize. "'m sorry. I get a bit flirty when I'm tending bar. Helped with the tips."

Mycroft's fingertips moved towards his lips, as if to reassure himself of what had happened. "Flirty? If that's flirty, I would hesitate to consider what happens when you're aroused." 

Greg figured, in for a penny, in for a pound, and said, "Would you like to? Consider it, I mean?" He was secretly pleased when the comment caused a full-on blush to rise on Mycroft's normally pale cheeks. "It's ok. 'm just teasing. We can pretend this never happened and blame the drinks." 

Mycroft had dropped his eyes towards his lap, then quickly looked away. After a moment, he slowly began speaking again. "... I can't be wrong, I'm never wrong, but ... what are you offering? And to me? Why?"

Greg realized it was an honest question. "Well. Never thought I'd baffle a Holmes." He continued, softly, knowing Mycroft was unfamiliar with the kind of emotions that came naturally to him. "You and I get along, Mycroft. We've known each other for years. We understand each other... at least, as much as someone like me can understand someone like you. We know what's important and what we have to do to take care of what's important to us. And, well, I like your suits. And what I can guess is in them. But the person is more important to me than the physique. Although yours seems ..." 

Greg suddenly reached out and wiggled his fingers against Mycroft's side, under his jacket, causing a jump and a squeak from the younger man. 

"Oooh, and you're ticklish!"

Mycroft, the somber mood replaced with a smile, blurted out amongst his giggles, "Gregory! That's a well-kept secret." 

Greg smiled. "You know you can trust me. You always have. Now, since I've given you plenty to think about, and killed your awful cognac, I think I'd better slope off home. You can tell your troublemaker how much you enjoyed sharing his liquor with a friend." 

He stood up and gave a hand to Mycroft, pulling him to his feet as well. "You need to call a car. Promise me you'll get home safe." 

Mycroft, lips pressed together as if to avoid letting anything else out, nodded firmly. His eyes wouldn't leave Greg's face, magnetized there. 

"Good. Take care, Mycroft," Greg said softly, as he hugged him briefly, before turning and letting himself out. A glance back from the door showed Mycroft, slightly rumpled but elegant as ever, with his eyes fixed on the silver-haired man and a bemused smile on his face. Greg hadn't felt this satisfied in a long while. A cocktail made, a problem solved, and a bright possibility for the future had made his evening.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](https://kowabungadoodles.tumblr.com/post/25589599548/prompts-masterpost/amp), which said: Greg has, like every Londoner ever, worked in a bar. Mycroft discovers Greg’s previously hidden talent for cocktails. 
> 
> How to make a [Brandy Alexander](https://www.liquor.com/recipes/brandy-alexander/).


End file.
